


swan king

by soapyconnor



Category: The Godfather (1972 1974 1990), The Godfather - Mario Puzo
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Mpreg, Trans Male Character, theres a small sex scene, trans!michael corleone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 23:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17907932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: in order for michael to be able to have the possibility of becoming head of the family, if the need ever needed to arise, he must take a husband.please note: this story will not follow the canon of the godfather at all. the characters may act a like ooc and if that bothers you then don't need it lmfao





	swan king

**Author's Note:**

> please note: this story will not follow the canon of the godfather at all. the characters may act a like ooc and if that bothers you then don't need it lmfao

            Everyone knew the truth. Everyone knew it, yet no one ever spoke of it.

            Especially not to the Don. The Don would kill anyone instantly upon them speaking of it.

            But they needed someone trustworthy to marry Michael. You could forge documents all you want, you could change Michael’s body all you want.

            But legally? He was still a woman. Nothing could change that.

            So, they needed a man. Who else could they trust besides Tom? Tom wasn’t related to them, anyways, and was already family. What could it hurt?

            Tom looked to Michael. It was their wedding day, but neither of them looked happy. Michael had been forced to wear a dress, and while he had dealt with it as much pride as any Corleone, Tom could see he was still struggling mentally to deal with it.

            Sonny had embraced his brother, and said, “ _Mio bel fratellino_.”

            Fredo had patted him on the shoulder. “ _Sei un uomo coraggioso._ ”

            Connie had given him a kiss on the cheek and embraced him. “ _Sei più uomo di chiunque altro in questa stanza_.”

            Then mama and pop came up. Mama complimented Michael on how brave he had been, and how she was so incredibly proud of him, how it would all be over soon. Pop embraced him, calling him a true son, and looked emotional.

            Michael had done nothing more but look dead inside.

            Tom studied him, and knew he needed to comfort him. He slid across the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turned towards him, his eyes looking rather blank. “Are you all right?” Tom murmured. He was surprised when he didn’t get an answer, and Michael leaned heavily into him.

            “I’m not a man, am I? I will never be a man,” he muttered in return. Tom pulled him into his lap, shaking his head quietly and running his hand through Michael’s hair.

            “You’re as much of a man as me. Your genitals don’t mean a God damn thing.”        

            “I had to marry a man because in the eye of law I am not one. How does being married to a man make _me_ a—?”

            He was cut off by Tom softly kissing him and running a hand over Michael’s chest. He froze, before he grabbed Tom’s shirt, pulling him closer. Tom pulled away, resting their foreheads together. “Being a man? It doesn’t matter if you’re married to a woman, or to a man. You’re a man if you say you’re a man, and you _are_ fucking one, Michael. You are more of a man than most men, and I will always call you my brother.”

            Michael was quiet for a moment, like he was thinking about Tom’s words. Then a slow smirk crossed his face. “Well . . . you’re going to have to call me your husband now.”

            Tom chuckled and brushed his hand over Michael’s shoulder. “Yeah . . .”

            Michael bit his lip and put his head beneath Tom’s chin. “So . . . what now? I know pop had us married to protect my place in the family, but I know you only love me as a brother . . . we will be expected to have children. I don’t want to bring children into a marriage where the parents don’t love one another.”

            Tom ran his hand over Michael’s back. What did he say? If he said he was actually in love with him, Michael may get a bit freaked out. He could have Tom killed . . .

            Of course, he wouldn’t do that. Not with Tom’s position in the family . . . Might as well be honest with your husband, right?

            “I’m in love with you,” he admitted. Michael froze. “Why do you think I kissed you? I may have been raised in a Sicilian family, but your mannerisms are not mine. Fuck, Mike, I’ve been in love with you since the day I saw you. I feel in love with you even more when you became Michael. I don’t care if that makes me a queer. You’re my husband, and I fucking love you,” he said softly.

            He waited for Michael to sit up, and start freaking out, start calling him names. He knew it was illogical, because of who Michael was, but instead the man rolled on top of him, sitting up. Tom wanted to ask what he was doing, when Michael hesitantly rutted his hips against him, causing Tom’s hands to fly to his hips. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Michael mumbled, slowly unbuckling Tom’s belt. He reached in and pulled his cock out. “Might as well consummate our marriage, right?”

            Tom’s mouth had gone dry, but he nodded in agreement. Fucking hell, Mike was beautiful . . .

            Then Tom came back to the present, and he hurriedly pulled Michael out of the silk panties he had worn underneath the dress. Tom glanced over at the wedding dress that was thrown haphazardly onto a chair. God, what he wouldn’t give to fuck him in it . . . His gaze jerked back to Michael, because the man was traveling down his body, bending down and taking him in his mouth.

            Tom threw his head back, groaning as he dug his fingers into Michael’s hair. He felt him lick him all the way up his shaft, then back down . . . _Fuck_ , he would be the only person who would get to see this. Esteemed son of the Corleone’s, taking him like a _fucking champ_ . . .

            If he was being honest, though, he was probably the only one who wanted to see Michael like this.

            He whimpered in surprise as Michael pulled away, but he blinked in surprise as he saw the man looming over him, Tom’s cock inches away from his leaking cunt. Tom desperately thrust up into the air, but Michael jerked his hips up away from his cock. Michael smirked at him and placed a kiss on his lips. “I was just gettin’ you ready for me . . . is that such a crime?” he asked.

            Tom shook his head, gripping tightly at Michael’s hips. When he felt the man ready to sink down on him, he was stopped. Michael looked into Tom’s concerned eyes. “Mikey . . . are you sure about this? You could get pregnant. Fuck, I know what you said about the wedding dress . . .”

            “If I was worried about that, do you think I would be willingly trying to impale myself on you?” he shot back, reaching up and cupping Tom’s face. He kissed him again. “I don’t mind having kids. I won’t mind being pregnant. I know you, and I know the family. You will all still treat me as if I’m a man, even if the others don’t. The wedding dress stressed me out because I was being constantly called a woman. I’m _fine_ , now.”

            Before Tom could say anything more, Michael sank down onto him, and he arched his back, moaning loudly. He reached between them, rubbing at Michael’s clit as the man began to ride him.

            He was slightly sad to say that this was the best fuck he ever had in his life. The sad part was being that this was only the second time he’s been fucked.

            He tried to flip them, so he could properly fuck into Michael, but the man kept him pinned down, rolling his hips sensually.

            His head thumped against the bed. Fuck. Michael was going to kill him.

 

 

            Tom’s heart dropped as he heard Michael agree to kill the two men who had attempted to ruin their family. He wanted to protest, and to say no. But to everyone else, Tom was only his husband in the eyes of the law, they weren’t actually together. He had no say. He wanted to protest even more, because Michael had discovered he was pregnant. How the hell where they supposed to send him over to another _country_ in disguise? This wasn’t going to work. Fuck, it wasn’t going to work . . .

            He felt Michael’s hand on his shoulder. Tom looked up, placing a hand over the man’s, his eyes soft. “I will be fine,” Michael said, his jaw moving stiffly, before his eyes swept over the room. “When will I have to go?”

            “Soon,” Sonny said. Tom hated to see the look in his eyes. It was the rational Sonny he needed.

            He’s never been rational.

With a sharp inhale, Tom placed his books down on the table. “I need to get some rest, then . . . Michael?”

            “I’ll stay up a little longer. We need to figure this out.”

            Tom opened his mouth, before his jaw slowly closed as he stared into Michael’s brown eyes. To coddle his husband, to prevent him from doing what he needed too to protect the family, to prevent him from finding himself, finding his place in the family. He glanced at Sonny, who was busy ranting to Clemenza. Sonny would not be Don very long. Fredo would not be able to deal with the responsibility of being the Don.

            It was up to Michael.

            “I will see you later then.” He squeezed Michael’s hand discreetly, and left the room, his heart sinking into his stomach.

 

 

            He opened his eyes as he felt the bed move. He felt Michael curl into his side, and his arm wrapped around him, stroking a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes once more, humming against Michael’s temple.

            “I don’t want you to go,” Tom murmured.

            “I have to. For what they did to pop, to Fredo,” Michael murmured. “I won’t be gone that long. Only a year.”

            Tom’s hand went still. “Then . . . I will miss the birth of the baby.”

            “Yes . . . I’m sorry,” Michael looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his chin.

            “How will you explain this to the citizens of Corleone?”

            “Sonny has taken care of it.”

            “Mikey . . .”

            He was silenced with a kiss, Michael’s fingers tracing the man’s chin. Tom kissed him back, before he pulled away. “You can’t distract me by kissing me.”

            He didn’t need to look to see Michael’s smirk. “I can at least _try_.”

            Tom put his hands on Michael’s stomach, staring down at it in the darkness, as Michael’s warm hands brushed his cheeks. “Promise me you’ll stay safe. Keep both of you safe,” he murmured.

            “Tom, that’s a stupid request—”

            “Michael.”

            Michael sighed. “Fine. I promise, both me and the baby will remain safe. All right?”

            “Thank you.”

 

 

            Tom closed his eyes, his hands clenched into a fist.

            Sonny was so stupid. He attempted to have faith in him, tempted to talk to him, attempted to make him see that brute strength wasn’t all that was needed to lead the family, but no, Sonny didn’t listen, Sonny was a full-blooded Sicilian, Sonny knew _better_.

            Tom had never wanted to see pop cry.

            “Pop—” Tom murmured, watching tears pour down the Don’s face.

            Vito’s hand grappled at the air, and Tom grabbed it, holding it tightly. “Tom,” Vito murmured, “I have lost it all. My two sons, my daughter—”

            “Pop, Michael . . . Michael is still alive, and you know how he—” Tom’s eyes flickered, and he cleared his throat, “Connie is fine. They’re both fine.”

            “We don’t know that,” Vito murmured, scrunching his eyes shut. “My family is falling apart, Tommy. What am I to do? Fredo is so fragile . . .”

            “Michael will be back within a couple of months,” Tom reassured, as he stood up to make the Godfather more comfortable in his hospital bed. “Everything will be okay.”

            “ _No,_ ” Vito murmured. “I need to have a meeting with the other families, this must . . . come to an end . . .”

            “It will.”

            Vito pushed Tom off, and Tom stepped back, carefully watching as Vito leaned his head back against the pillow. “Tom . . .”

            “Yes, pop?”

            “You love my son, you love my boy?”

            Tom’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Of course, pop, you know—”

            “No. _Actually_ love him?”

            Tom mulled over the question, and he couldn’t quite meet the Don’s gaze. What was the worse that could possibly happen? Tom looked into the Don’s eyes.

            You need me.

            “Yes,” Tom said, calmly. “I don’t care if that makes me a queer. I love your son, and I will die for him, and for our children, if we have any.”

            Something flickered across the Don’s eyes. He laid his head back against the pillows, inhaling sharply. “Let Bonasera know I have a great favor to ask of him.”

            Tom nodded quietly. “Yes, pop.”

 

 

            “Look at what they’ve done to my boy.”

            Tom didn’t like seeing the Don cry. He didn’t like seeing how the Don’s son’s own stupidity and anger caused this pain. If Tom could, he would kill Sonny. The Don didn’t deserve this.

            Bonasera’s eyes were wide as he looked at Sonny’s corpse, his heart beating so loudly Tom could hear it. Tom jerked his gaze away. “I will do my best, Godfather,” Bonasera murmured, his eyes flickering from Sonny’s body to Tom to the Don.

            “I know you will,” the Don said, patting at his eyes. “Thank you, Bonasera.”

            Bonasera kissed the Godfather’s hands before Tom helped him outside to the car, where they sat quietly in the back as the driver began to take them back to the house. Tom handed Vito his medicine.

            “I want Michael home,” Vito murmured, eyes hazy.

            “He will be home in a couple of months.”

            “Good . . . good . . .” Vito closed his eyes. Tom glanced out of the window. “I always knew my boy was special . . . Every since I was his little round face nestled against my wife, Sonny and Fredo peering down at his tiny face, I knew he would change everything.”

            Tom swallowed.

            “Believe it or not,” Vito continued, “I did not want this life for him, Tom. I really didn’t. When he went off to the war . . .” Vito shook his head. “I was scared for him. He shouldn’t have gotten himself wrapped up in this. He deserved better, Tom.”

            Tom nodded, fiddling with his tie. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ve raised a great, fantastic son—”

            The Don chuckled. “That wasn’t me, it was his mother. His beautiful other, bless her . . .” He closed his eyes. Tom decided not to interrupt, who knew if Vito would ever feel comfortable saying any of this again? “I’m sure if I were a different man, I would have rejected Michael for who he is. Rejected him for who he loved. But how can I look at my beautiful son, my beautiful son with a fiery gaze who I knew had such a great future ahead of him?” He took Tom’s hand. “I love my son, Tom. I love my son being with you. I love that he is happy.”

            “Pop—I—”

            “Sh,” Vito murmured. “There’s nothing that needs to be said . . . I cannot wait to meet my new grandchild.”

            Tom didn’t know what to say. He reached over, and gently took the man’s hand.

 

 

            Tom laid in bed, a pillow pulled to his chest. He inhaled sharply, Michael’s cologne dying on the pillow. He pressed his cheek against the side, staring into the darkness. He wondered how Michael was doing, how the baby was doing. He wasn’t very far along when he left, could he have . . .

            Tom shook his head, and let out a soft moan.

            He missed the presence of the man in the bed next to him, cuddling up close and kissing at his throat. He missed hearing another soft breathing in the room other than his own. He . . . God, he hoped they were okay.

            He knew that Sonny had taken care of the citizens of Corleone, that Michael would be _fine_ , but he couldn’t help but . . . but worry, God dammit. They were not family. They were not someone that could be so easily trusted.

            Why couldn’t we just hide him in the house for a year? Tom thought, disgruntled. He missed his baby.

 

 

            Leaving his office, Tom had to pause momentarily as he caught sight of the commotion going on around them. He frowned at the large crowd surrounding one of the Fords, and he let out a soft sigh. Vito was helping Mama off of the porch, smiling softly at her, before his gaze turned to Tom.

            “What’s going on?” Tom asked.

            “Go see for yourself.”

            Tom grunted and headed down the porch himself, heading to the gravel road. He stopped as he caught a glimpse of dark hair and tanned skin through the crowd. He could _hear_ the sounds of a baby, and he knew that no one at the present moment had a baby with them. He didn’t see Connie’s large blob of hair, so it had to be only one person—

            “Tom.”

            “Michael—”

            Tom stopped when he saw the baby boy in Michael’s arms. He inhaled sharply, his stomach churning. His baby, God, his baby was _alive_ —

            The crowd separated, Fredo and Clemenza remaining by his side only. Tom stepped forward, placing his hands on Michael’s shoulders, and he smiled down at him. He swallowed, and said, “It’s good to have you back.”

            His body was _screaming_ for him to kiss Michael, to let him know just how much he had _fucking missed him_.

            “It’s good to be back.”

            Tom didn’t notice this when he first saw Michael, but when he would look back at it later, he would have noticed how the man’s posture had changed. How his eyes weren’t the soft things they once were, how his eyes were cold, no warmth shown through their depths. But Tom was focused on Michael, how he was _home_ , how he was _home_ with their _baby—_

            “—I’m sorry, but may I have some privacy with my husband?” Michael asked, his voice soft as he adjusted the baby against his chest. “It’s been quite a long journey . . .”

            Tom wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders, guiding him away from the crowd, his heart thumping in his ear. He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd, and made some lame excuse, before snapping at everyone to get back to work. Michael passed Mama and Pop, pausing momentarily to kiss his parents’ cheeks. Tom heard him mention that the baby was tired, and that they would get to fully meet their grandson later.

            Tom only fully came to when they were in their bedroom, Michael siting on the bed and unbuttoning his shirt. Tom swallowed harshly, and said, “Michael—”

            “Tom.”

            “I . . . I don’t—”

            Michael patted the spot next to him on the bed, and Tom stumbled over, sitting down and staring down at his hands, before he glanced at Michael and their baby.

            He took a deep breath. “Are you all right, Michael?”

            “Fine.”

            Tom chewed on his bottom lip. “Do . . . _Would_ you like to speak about—?”

            “Later, Tom.”

            Tom ran a hand through his hair. God, he . . . he did not know how to deal with this. He figured that they would always be comfortable around each other.

            A year really can change things, huh?

            “—hold him?”

            “Huh?” Tom’s head jerked up, heat rushing to his face.

            Michael was holding out the babe. “Would you like to hold him?”

            Tom paused, before he reached out, and gently took him in his arms. He looked down at the baby’s face, inhaling sharply as he saw the boy’s brown eyes staring up at him. He had Tom’s features, by Michael’s coloring. “He’s beautiful, Mike . . . What’s—”

            “Anthony,” Michael murmured, as he laid down on the bed. Tom laid down next to him, placing Anthony between the two of them. Tom looked at Michael, his eyes scrapping over his body. He saw how disheveled the man was, how the man seemed so . . . exhausted. “Anthony Vito.”

            “It’s beautiful, Mike. I’m sure pop will be happy to hear it.”

            Michael smiled sleepily, and he reached out, taking Tom’s hand. “I’ve missed you, Tom.”

            Tom’s stomach flipped. “I’ve missed you too. So, so much . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there for the birth.”

            “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop Sonny.”

            Tom jerked his head down, stroking Anthony’s cheek, the babe staring up at him, curiously. “I should have been able to stop him,” he murmured.

            “Guess we both have regrets, huh?”

            “I suppose so . . . Get some rest, Mike.”

            Michael stared at Tom for a while, before he nodded and closed his eyes, slowly falling asleep.

 

 

            Tom sat on the couch next to Michael, watching as Anthony was passed from family member to family member. Michael’s eyes were firmly on Anthony the entire time, and Tom reached over, gently taking his hand and squeezing it.

            Finally, Anthony was passed to the Don. “Ah, my beautiful grandson,” the Don murmured, gently rocking the babe in his arm. Tom glanced at Michael, who had stopped staring at Anthony, and was now looking at Connie, his gaze slowly traveling to Carlo.

            “Mike?”

            “I want him gone, Tom,” Michael said smoothly, barely above a whisper.

            Tom paused, briefly.

            “I want him gone. We will send him to Nevada, under the guise of going to see how our business is going,” Michael continued, “And I want him gone.”

            Tom stared at him like he had grown a second head.

            “Have I made myself clear?”

            Tom snapped out of it. “Yes, Michael. You got it.”

           

 

            Tom sat next to Michael on the couch as Connie sobbed to Carmela. Fredo stood to the side, his face a little pale as Anthony and a few other of the kids toddled around. Michael was watching Anthony, not Connie, and Tom’s stomach churned. He glanced at Michael, and whispered against his ear. “Your father wants to speak with us.”

            “Someone needs to watch Anthony.”

            “Anthony will be fine. He’s surrounded by family.”

            Michael’s mouth twitched. “Fine.”

            Together, they headed into the Don’s office. The elder was sitting at his desk, a cough racking his fragile body. It hurt Tom, and he flinched a bit as he heard the rattling.

            Michael sat down across the desk, and Tom remained standing, pacing a bit.

            “Michael,” Vito started, his voice soft.

            “If you’re going to chastise me for getting rid of Carlo—”

            “I’m not.” Vito shook his head, and gave a soft sigh. “Son . . . I would like you to take a break.”

            Tom stopped, his head whipping around to look at the Don. Michael’s body was tense, and Tom stepped forward, rubbing at his shoulders. “A break? But what about—”

            “We will be fine here. Things are calm between the families. You will not be gone that long.” Vito’s voice was soothing, but Tom’s worry was building up, going to _spill_ out of him if this continued any longer. “I have Tessio, Clemenza . . . we will be all right.” The repetition seemed to be more for _Vito’s_ sake than theirs.

            “I . . .” Michael began. “No, I can’t, not at all. This . . . Pop, this is a dumb move and you know it is. The family won’t be as strong, because I _know_ what you’ll insist—”

            Vito held up a hand, and Michael’s jaw slowly closed. Tom sat down in a chair, wiping at his forehead with a handkerchief. “We will not be sending anyone with the two of you. You will leave discreetly overnight, and will go wherever you like. You will call us when you want to return.”

            Michael slumped in the chair. Tom finally decided to speak up, “How long do you want us to be gone?”

            “A month.”

            “Pop, _no_ —”

            “Michael, did your mother teach you to interrupt?” Vito responded, rubbing at his fat cheeks. Michael slumped back against the couch, crossing his arms and letting out a soft sigh. “You, Tom, and Anthony need to spend time together. Since you’ve returned from Sicily, you have spent no time alone. You must take care of your family as much as the rest of us. You cannot ignore them and think it will continue to go all right, Michael.” There was a pause, and Michael opened his mouth, but Vito cut him off again. “Tell me, do you or do you not love Tom?”

            Tom and Michael looked at one another. Michael turned back to his father, but Tom continued to watch his face. Miniscule movements crossed his features, like his nostrils subtly expanding. “I do.”

            “Tom, do you or do you not love Michael?”

            Tom’s head snapped towards Vito, trying to catch up to the conversation. “Yes, I do.”

            A small smile spread across Vito’s face. “Good . . . good . . .” He looked from Michael, to Tom. “Carmela and I didn’t stay together all these years without spending time with one another. You can . . . forget, who your partner is, if you’re apart too long.”

            Michael looked at Tom, then to Vito. “All right, pop, you’ve made your point . . . we’ll leave tomorrow, all right? We’ll talk about where we’re gonna go.”

            Vito stood up, walking around the desk to kiss his son on the cheek, before he went to clasp Tom’s hands. Tom broke out of his trance and smiled at the Don, patting the man’s hands before he turned to watch Michael leave.

            _Michael was lying._

 

            “That’s it, Anthony,” Tom cooed as he held Anthony’s chubby arms. Anthony’s fists crashed into the water, sending drops into Tom’s hair. Tom chuckled, and picked the eight-month-old up, blowing raspberries on his cheeks. Anthony giggled and babbled, splashing Tom again.

            Tom looked up as he heard the door open, and Tom’s smile faded for a moment, before he looked back at Anthony. Michael, dressed in his suit, came to the edge of the pool and sat down cross legged. Tom gently pushed Anthony away from him, holding onto his chubby hands as he began to pull the baby through the water.

            “You should join us,” Tom said, not taking his eyes away from Anthony.

            Michael squinted. “No, I’m good.”

            Tom sighed, and began to pull Anthony around the pool some more. On his tenth trip by, Tom said, “This vacation was meant for us to relax.”

            “I have been relaxing.”

            “ _Together_ , Michael.”

            Michael sighed, and Anthony began to whine, so Tom pulled him close and headed to the pool edge. He placed Anthony on the side, and Anthony stood up uneasily on his legs, before he began to toddle off into the grass.

            “Anthony—”

            “Let him go, Mike,” he said with a soft sigh. “He’s a kid. Kids are supposed to get dirty.” Tom placed a hand on Michael’s thigh, and Michael jerked away, looking down at him before he looked away. “What’s going on with you?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Ever since you came back—”

            “What? I haven’t wanted to sit on your dick yet so you’re worried?” Michael snapped, and Tom’s eyes went wide. They stared at each other for a moment, before Michael shook his head and stood up, running a hand over his hair. “Anthony, darling, come here—”

            Tom grabbed Michael’s ankle. “We need to _talk_.”

            “We have nothing to talk about.”

            “The hell we _don’t_.” Michael’s mouth pursed into a thin line, and Tom refused to let go. “Tonight, we are getting a babysitter for Anthony, and we are going _out_ and talking about this.”

            Michael stared at him, and Tom just stared right back. If Mike thought he could be intimidated, he had another thing coming.

            Michael sighed. “Fine.”

 

 

            Tom glanced at Michael as they left the restaurant, strolling down the street as it began to rain. Tom opened his umbrella, holding it above them. Michael walked with his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes planted on the ground in front of them.

            The streets of downtown Rock Springs were relatively empty, the only people they seemed to pass were old couples and young couples making googly eyes at each other. Tom glanced at Michael, before taking his hand gently. Michael turned and looked at him, before he looked away.

            They reached their rental, and Tom pulled out the keys. He folded the umbrella and sat it down, before shrugging off his coat. It was the middle of the day, and they had somehow managed to find a daycare center for Anthony to go to for the day. They had _hours_ to talk, and Tom was going to use all of them.

            When Tom turned around, Michael was disappearing into the bedroom. He followed him, and watched as Michael sank down onto the bed.

            “The day your father asked you if you loved me,” Tom said, “You lied.”

            “I didn’t.”

            “You did. Just like you’re lying to me now.” He crossed his arms as Michael began to unbutton his jacket. “So. Talk.”

            “I didn’t lie. I do love you, Tom.” He scratched a hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry that it looked like I lied, but I do love you. I just . . .”

            Tom gave him a moment. Then a minute, then two. “Just _what_?” Tom licked his lips, trying to not get too angry with him. He felt like he was acting like Sonny, although he felt this was a little more reasonable in this instance than literally any other time Sonny flew into a rage.

            “If I admitted that I was in love with another man, I was afraid of what it would do to my father,” Michael finally said, his bottom lip bleeding from where his teeth had torn into it. “You thought I was lying because I was _scared_. Is it truly that unreasonable? That I should be _scared_ of what will happen to you, to me, to Anthony? We can make excuses for Anthony. If we admitted we loved each other, I am either going to get marked as a queer, or not _man_ enough.”

            Tom watched. Michael had thoroughly grabbed him by the gut, and he watched as Michael closed his eyes. He jerked when they reopened, meeting his gaze. “What? Got nothing else to say now?”

            “I . . .” He shook his head. “Michael, you should have just _spoken_ to me about it. You know your father would never treat you like that, he _loves you_ , and we don’t have to tell anyone we’re in love. What the hell does it matter to them?” Tom stepped forward, and cupped Michael’s cheek. “You’re more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met, Luca Brasi included.”

            A smile teased the corner of Michael’s mouth. “I’m sorry. You know there are . . . secrets, that I will need to keep.”

            “Not from me.”

            Michael mulled it over for a moment, before he finally said, “No, I suppose, not from you.”

            Tom sat down on the bed, pulling Michael close to his chest and laying back. He closed his eyes and sighed.

            “So? Are we done talking now? Can we go get Anthony?”

            Gently tugging at Michael’s hair, Tom shook his head and said, “No, Mike. We never got to speak about what happened in Sicily.”

            “There’s nothing to—”

            “Michael.” He heard a sigh escape his husband’s lips, and Tom rolled onto his side. “When you came back from Sicily, you were different. The old you would have swum with us yesterday, would have not minded Anthony playing in the grass, would have _talked_ to me—”

            “I can’t be the ‘innocent boy’ I once was.”

            “You’re right, you can’t be. But you can loosen up a bit.”

            Michael opened his mouth, then closed it. “Yes. Guess you’re right.”

            They laid there, Tom dragging his hand through Michael’s hair as Michael moved his head more firmly onto his chest, his hands gripping at Tom’s shirt. He closed his eyes, listening to their breathing, before he heard Michael speak, “Of course, the people pop contacted were supportive of me. I had to hide in the villa until I gave birth to Anthony. But . . . when I wasn’t showing, I went out on a walk afternoon, and there was this girl. She was . . . well . . . gorgeous. I would have fallen for her if it hadn’t been for you. We became fast friends, and she was so quiet, so sweet . . . When I told her about me, she was understanding. More than I ever thought possible. I loved her.”

            Tom’s hand paused in Michael’s hair.

            Michael didn’t seem to notice. “I taught her English. I taught her how to drive a car.” He wiped at his nose with his sleeve. “There were two bodyguards that were always with me, Fabrizio and Caló. Caló was a good man, and I had _thought_ Fabrizio was as well . . .” He pressed his mouth against Tom’s chest. “He was jealous of the relationship I had with Apollonia. He thought we were romantically involved. I suppose Barzini got to him, and he was supposed to kill me. Clearly, it didn’t work.”

            Tom didn’t need it spelled out for him.

            “I can’t . . . my own sense of trust and blindness led to her death. I trusted Fabrizio because Tommasino trusted him. If I had just . . . paid attention, she may still be alive.” So many things were left unsaid. He knew Michael was acting out only due to fear, but to be fearful for Tom . . .

            “We will be fine, Michael,” Tom murmured, as Michael rolled on top of him, his hands splayed across Tom’s chest. “Anthony will be the most protected boy in the world, and the only time I’ve ever been gone after is with Sollozzo.”

            Michael looked down at him, and for once, Tom saw emotion behind the man’s brown eyes. It was barely there, but God dammit, Tom was gonna take what he could get. “That won’t stop me from worrying, Tom.”

            Tom reached up, cupping the man’s cheek again, gently stroking across the stubbled face. He was still amazed with what the medication had done to Michael’s body. Vito truly had influence in many industries . . . “Just like it won’t stop me from worrying about you.”

            Michael’s face softened again. Tom whispered, “We’re in this together.” Michael leaned down, their lips sealed together. Tom moaned, his mouth opening to allow Michael’s tongue to slither inside.

            Tom went to unbutton Michael’s shirt, when his hands were stopped. “Anthony—”

            “We’ve got hours until we need to pick him up,” Tom murmured, “Just relax.”

 

           

            “Listen to Michael,” the Don—no, _Vito_ —rasped, passing behind his son as he headed to the window. “He is head of the family now.”

            Tom watched as Tessio pressed his lips into a thin line. Clemenza looked exasperated as well, and Tom wasn’t so sure if it was because Michael was heavily pregnant with their second child, or because they didn’t believe in Michael.

            Either way, Tom’s stomach churned.

            He sat back in his seat, his eyes traveling back to his husband. The man’s eyes were cold, his exterior rugged. It hurt to see, but he understood that it had to be done. He looked over at Vito, who stared out in the backyard, watching his grandchildren play.

            Clemenza let out a sigh, and rose to his feet. “All right, Mike. Tessio and I will take care of things. Rest up, all right?”

            “Take care, Michael,” Tessio added, before the two men left.

            Vito headed over to the desk and leaned against it, staring at Michael over his shoulder. He let out a soft sigh. “How are you and the baby Mike?”

            “Fine, pop,” Michael replied calmly as he watched Tom gather his things.

            Vito looked at Tom, before he looked back at Michael. Thinking that the rustling of the papers was too loud to hear him speak, Vito whispered to Michael, “There will be an attempt on your life.”

            Michael just nodded, his eyes losing the little bit of life he had left.

            “Michael, this will be from someone in the family, someone close to us,” Vito continued, and Tom was running out of items to collect. “After I pass, there will be no reason for them not too.”

            Michael nodded again, his eyes following Tom.

            “You must be prepared, son. I don’t do this to worry you.”

            “I know, pop. I know.”

 

 

            The birth of Gianna Carmella Mary Corleone just had to go to shit. Tom would have been terrified even if the birth was going normally, but no, that couldn’t happen. The Corleone family doesn’t do normal.

            First, Michael went into labor in a car.

            Second, there was no phone within a hundred-mile radius.

            Third, it was pouring rain, and Tom wouldn’t dare try to continue driving with Michael moaning in pain in the seat next to him.

            Michael—strong, beautiful Michael, bless his God damn heart—seemed to have prepared for this, just like he prepared for everything else in their lives now. As soon as Tom had gotten them to a safe spot off of the motorway, Michael climbed into the back seat, unbuckling his trousers.

            Tom remembered moving like a sloth, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, unable to focus on the event going on in front of him. Tom remembered Michael gently guiding him through the process, telling him what he needed to do and say.

            Nevertheless, the process seemed to never end, and Tom will _swear_ until his deathbed that it took two days, even though it really only taken an hour.

            The moments afterwards, Tom will keep to his heart, and never let anyone besides his children be privy to this information. After he had wrapped the bloodied baby in his suit jacket and cleaned her as best as he could, he gently passed her to Michael, before he checked his husband over. Once he was sure Michael was okay, only then did he squeeze himself in besides his husband, and revel in the beauty of their daughter, listening to the rain pelt down against the roof of the car.

            Tom had looked to Michael, and saw the gentle look on his face, the look of absolutely being in _love_ with their baby girl, and Tom remembered not being able to breath.

            It may have gone to shit, but it was probably the happiest day of his life.

 

 

            Vito Corleone passed away on a Friday.

            Tom and Michael had gotten the call while they were away on business, listening to Connie as she sobbed the information to them. Michael had gone stiff, his eyes darkening, and Tom just clasped his shoulder reassuringly.

            Anthony had been the only one present to notice his grandfather’s collapse. When they arrived at the house, and Michael knelt down to speak with Anthony, the boy said, “Grandpa was chasing me. Then he fell down.”

            That only reassured Tom slightly. Anthony didn’t seem to really know what had happened to his grandfather, and the knowledge that at least Vito was happy in his last moments.

            Michael was invisibly distraught. Tom saw it before anyone else, and when the man had rose to his feet, murmuring about how he needed to begin to prepare his father’s funeral, Tom stepped forward, clasped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Take Anthony to go see your mother. I’m sure she could use your presence right now.”

            Michael fought only briefly. Then, defeated, he nodded and picked up Anthony, holding him close to his chest as he headed towards his mother’s room, where Gianna was still presumably asleep. Tom stood, running a hand over his face as it had finally settled in what had happened. Vito was gone. Michael was now the sole head of the Corleone Family. Someone in the family was going to come after his husband.

            Tom took a deep breath, clenching his fists a bit, before he shook himself. _One thing at a time, Tom_ , he thought to himself, before he headed to the phone.

 

 

            Tom kept his gaze lowered at the funeral, Gianna on his lap. Michael had not shed a tear since they had gotten there, and Tom was starting to regret bringing the kids. He thought it would have been a good thing, a comfort for Michael, but Anthony wasn’t getting what was going on. He didn’t understand that his grandfather wasn’t coming back, and it was stressing Michael out. Not only that, but he was _waiting_ to see who the family rat would be.

            He felt Michael’s hand gently grab his upper arm, and Tom looked up, his stomach churning as he saw the other heads of the family’s approach. They knew that this was inevitable, it was tradition, it was what you _did_ , but it still didn’t quench the feeling of unease.

            Once the heads and members of their Family had passed, Michael murmured under his breath, “We will discover who the rat is.”

            Tom just nodded. He sat next to Michael through most of the service, until Gianna broke out into a loud wail. Tom stood up, leaving his husband’s side to head to the back of the crowd, attempting to soothe Gianna, murmuring under his breath to her.

            “May I hold her?” a familiar voice asked, and Tom nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping up to look at Clemenza. For such a large man, he had approached Tom rather quietly.

            “Oh,” Tom said, holding Gianna out to him, and only paused briefly when he remembered that Clemenza could be the rat, “Yeah, sure.” Clemenza took Gianna gently in his arms, and cooed at her, grinning down at her.

            “She is a beautiful little girl, spitting image of you, Tom,” Clemenza said, before he let out a laugh. “Oh, you know what I mean, not that she looks manly.”

            Tom smiled, making sure it didn’t look pained. _He wouldn’t dare hurt her,_ Tom reminded himself, _Who would hurt a baby? She has nothing to do with this._

“How is Michael handling everything?” Clemenza asked, causing Tom’s head to snap up. Gianna was nestled close to the man’s chest, his hand on her stomach gently. She drew Clemenza’s finger into her mouth, gently sucking on it.

            “He’s doing okay. It will take a lot of adjustment.”

            Clemenza nodded, and then held Gianna up in the air, throwing her a bit. He smiled at the baby as she gave him a smile. Eventually, Clemenza said, “Watching you all grow up . . . well.” He lowered Gianna into his arms again. “To say the least, it has been interesting.”

            Tom just nodded, and took Gianna back, smiling hesitantly at Clemenza. Nonetheless, the man continued, speaking about how they had all known that Sonny was going to get himself into a bad situation, and how Fredo wouldn’t have much influence in the family. Tom only began to listen again when he heard Clemenza say, “. . . I never thought Michael would grow up to be the man he has become. When he had offered to do the Sollozzo mission, I never thought in a hundred years he would actually go through with it . . . but he is a Corleone.” He looked into Tom’s eyes. He sighed, and scratched at his forehead. “He is a Corleone.”

            Tom stilled, staring Clemenza down. Then, he gave him a nod. “That’s nice to hear, Clemenza. I better get back.”

            “Take care of him, Tom.”

            “I will.”

            Tom headed back to Michael, his mind racing. He couldn’t tell if Clemenza was fucking with him or if he had been actually genuine. With his daughter in such close contact to a threat, Tom hadn’t been able to think clearly, and perhaps that’s just what Clemenza wanted.

            Tom found Michael, who was holding Anthony, the boy passed out against his father’s chest. Michael’s face was neutral as Tom leaned in to kiss his cheek, and Michael grabbed him by the bicep, whispering, “It’s Tessio.”

            Tom froze.

            “I want you to take care of him, Tom.”

            Tom stilled.

            “You’ve got it.”

 

 

            Tom stood behind Michael as Connie’s youngest son was getting baptized. Mama Corleone was holding Gianna, and Anthony was at Tom’s side, gently holding his hand. Tom watched Michael’s demeanor, saw how tense he was. Tom knew he himself wasn’t much better off, the thought of what was going on at the moment, Michael exacting his carefully calculated revenge, didn’t sit well with Tom.

            He knew why Michael was doing this now.

            He knew why Michael was so tense.

            But did that mean Tom had to accept it? Hell fucking no. If anything were to go awry, the thought would keep Michael up at night, and Tom didn’t know how he would be able to comfort him.

            Hell, Tom didn’t even know how to comfort him now.

            Tom’s head jerked up as Michael briefly looked at him over his shoulder. Their gaze met briefly, before Michael turned his gaze back onto the priest.

            But he had to try. He loved this man. He would go to the end of the world for him. He had killed for this man.

            And he would do it again.

            And again.

            And again.

            _And again . . ._


End file.
